


(Will you) dance with me

by PerthroSeidraikiri



Category: Great Pretender (Anime)
Genre: Fluff, Gardening, Gen, GrePreWeek, Hurt/Comfort, Language of Flowers, Love Confessions, M/M, Minor Injuries, Romangst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:14:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26483254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PerthroSeidraikiri/pseuds/PerthroSeidraikiri
Summary: The way Laurent’s hands had smelt like antiseptic earlier when he had wrapped the towel around Makoto should have been a straight forward hint.The person they had conned this time round was smart, cautious and Laurent had volunteered himself.He stretched his own hands out, opening his palms and smiling encouragingly, “It’s just a bruise right?”Or Makoto worries about Laurent but can't admit it.
Relationships: Edamura Makoto & Abigail Jones, Edamura Makoto & Cynthia Moore, Edamura Makoto & Laurent Thierry, Edamura Makoto/Laurent Thierry
Comments: 22
Kudos: 231





	(Will you) dance with me

**Author's Note:**

> I don't write full fluff a lot XD.  
> Hence the 'romangst' (flungst??), because angst happens without me even trying \0/
> 
> Flower language is absolutely adorable and I feel like Laurent would just like gardening?? Some comforting hobby and flowers are pretty, he likes pretty things >,>
> 
> And ofc Makoto's a nerd so he'd know all about it.  
> GrePreWeek - Hurt/Comfort
> 
> ~~the injury is because characters being vulnerable are my cup of tea~~

They’re back on the Island again, and unlike the last time, he gets to indulge in what’s he’s been missing for a good while; a little relaxation; without worrying _much_ about them going on another case, or feeling guilty for having done something that he knows he should repent for. This time around, their pockets are stuffed, their last con had gone somewhat successfully and they were all well and safe.

The waves crash loudly in front of him as the strong breeze slaps his chest as he slowly stands up, wadding through the water and trying to catch up with Abigail who seems to be enjoying hearing him struggle without so much of looking at him to know that he is. He sputters as a splash of water hits his face, filling his nose with salty water. 

They’re not far from the shore for it to happen, so there’s only one cause.

Aby’s feet send the water splashing everywhere and all over him as she runs ahead of him, the smell of the buffet on the shore wafting towards them, drawing them in as the sun sets behind them, staining the water orange and purple, the clouds steely gray.

It gets colder as he makes it closer to shore, beginning to regret ever deciding to swim in the first place as his feet finally hit the sand and shingles, toes digging into it and moulding his footsteps. 

Quickly he grabs the hem of the trunks, curling his fingers around and rolling them up to his waist. The trunks are loose which is entirely the whole reason he's regretting ever stepping into the water in the first place. 

And they aren't his, they’re _Laurent’s._

Brand new, Hawaiian trunks of course. Pastel blue with purple flowers, but he had still lent them to him. 

He should have joined them hours ago, but he’s not complaining one bit to be away from the man’s teasing for a while.

Hastily, he fidgets with the knots, tightening them until his forces him diaphragm wheeze out a bit of air. 

“Edamame! Hurry up before there’s nothing left!”

Cynthia’s call has him rushing up, shivering and teeth clattering. He slips a little, yelping again and stopping himself from falling into the sand face first with his hands as he looks around for his towel. 

“Have both of you seen my towel anywhere?”

Aby munches loudly as always before she stretches back against the tree she’s taken shelter under, plates of food around her filled to the brim—grilled lobster, rice with curry and a good bowl of prawn soup—his towel wrapped up around her shoulders, keeping her warm and cozy.

He glares at her momentarily to drain the frustration before turning around to just grab a plate he can withstand letting himself freeze and shiver to death, food is much more important at the moment and the soup will definitely warm him right up.

They’re all silent for a moment, breaking into the lobster, spoons clattering against the ceramic of their plates. 

His teeth clatter even faster and Cynthia shoots him an amused look as she starts to talk, filling in the silence and talking over the crashing of the waves. She gives him another pointed look that he’s come to know too well; it leaves him contemplating his stubbornness for a few seconds before he decides to rush into the house and just get changed. 

Before he does, he takes one good look around; eyes landing on the empty white plate that sits on top of the table, “Where’s Laurent?”

Cynthia opens her mouth to speak before she closes it again, smiling softly and looking behind him pointedly in reply. 

Large, bony fingers wrap around his shoulders before the cold completely disappears, a larger and fluffier towel falling down his shoulders.

“Right here, Edamame.” 

He blinks, huffs then turns back to his food but slowly makes room for the blond to sit beside him. He expects him too, it’s become more of a habit than he would like—making space for the man everywhere, every time no matter what he was asked of. 

He would have loved to call it a bad habit, a dangerous habit that he couldn’t let go. 

But that would be giving Laurent too much credit. 

So when Laurent walks past him, past all of them and starts to head back into the house. His heart stutters just a bit. 

His blond hair seems scruffier, unkempt; obviously the wind’s doing. He’s not facing either of them, Makoto can’t read his face and conclude what’s wrong (not that he’s that good at it yet anyway, not with the way he always seems to sport a smirk).

“You’re not eating?” 

There’s still a lot more food, the steam is still rising from the rice and the lobster is dripping with butter. He hadn’t even sneaked a bite from his own plate like he always did. 

There’s no hesitation in his answer as always, voice as coy as ever, “No, I’m not that hungry, _bon appetit_ Edamame.”

Cynthia’s head snaps up, so he knows his own shocked reaction and feelings are not uncalled for. Aby seems to have stopped chewing for a few seconds as well.

The girls both look up at him at the same time, like he’s some sort of secret ingredient. 

“Wha-what?” he murmurs, chewing his prawn as he raises an eyebrow in question.

His stomach falls as they both raise an eyebrow back before going back to their food; Cynthia’s chatter trying to swallow up the concern that hangs above them.

* * *

It’s nearly midnight and he hasn’t seen a trace of Launret’s ugly pastel pink shirt anywhere down the corridor and neither in their room. He hears doors open and shut, the little bubble in his chest hopeful that it’s Laurent coming into their room, waiting for a usual tease of ‘asleep already, Edamame?’

It pops in disappointment each time. 

Annoyingly, he can’t sleep.

The bed next to his is empty, sheets completely unwrinkled. 

It makes him uncomfortable. He’s lived alone for a long time, but now that he’s around them, he finds it difficult to sleep without someone close. 

Laurent knows that.

As much as the man annoys him, drags him along with him everywhere and always manages to involve him into their schemes somehow. He knows he always somehow, deep down has good intentions. 

He listens to him when he talks, he fixes messes that Makoto gets into and still manages to leave him speechless and in awe every time. 

The slippers on his feet drag against the carpeted floor as he makes him way back downstairs. It’s dark, but the light from the moon streams in unbent. Water drips and taps in the sink and he can still hear the waves crashing. 

There’s still no trace of him. 

A heavy feeling forms in his stomach suddenly as he takes a good look around one last time, hopeful and waiting for any sign of him, straining his ears and twitching his nose as he lets out a small sneeze.

They’re free to leave when they want.

They’re free _to do whatever_ they want. 

He leaves whenever he wants.

So, why does Laurent leaving upset him?

He doesn’t owe the man anything.

Not for now at least. And probably not for a while, he hasn’t left their sides ever since France. 

As much as their ploys tend to leave him exasperated, he can’t deny the thrill he gets from working with them.

The thrill he gets from seeing Laurent’s eyes sparkle with mirth as he explains his plans to them. 

He’s about to head back up, maybe try the veranda when he hears a little murmur and then a soft noise; the sound of someone shovelling followed by more murmurs. Makoto scrunches his pyjama shirt in his hand, walking down the hall and towards the transparent sliding door that sits in front of the garden. 

Clad in a baggy grey shirt and sweatpants, sitting on the soil is Laurent. Eyebrows scrunched slightly in concentration as he picks up the mini spade and shovels the ground, making a little sized hole before his fingers pick the little rocks, placing them by his side.

The garden is full of flowers of all kinds, and Laurent sits in the middle of all of them, somehow fitting right in. 

“I didn’t know you gardened…” he cleared his voice politely, curious amusement quirking his lips. 

Laurent hums unheeding as Makoto squats down beside him. Laurent doesn’t say anything else and that squashes the amusement in him completely; leaving only concerned curiosity behind. 

“Not suited for a bastard like me?” 

Makoto blinks, opens his mouth to quickly say that’s not what he thinks at all. But Laurent chuckles softly, “It calms me.”

His bony fingers cup around a large white petaled flower curving upwards and framed by narrow green leaves. 

“Magnolia.” Makoto breathes, making himself comfortable, tucking his legs and watching as Laurent gently placed the roots into the ground, large hands pushing the soil over it, smoothening it out, picking out the rest of the little rocks.

“Yes.” Laurent nods and gives him another smile, “any idea what it means?”

He’s quick to answer, the answer on the tip of his tongue and his eyes sparkling, “Nobility.”

Another flower gets buried into the ground, white around the edges, cupping a smaller yellow version of itself on top of it, wavy at the ends and sides.

Makoto supplies an answer straight away, “Narcissus… Egotism or uh, formality.”

Laurent chuckles at his English pronunciation and he makes a mental note to practice the word later.

A bigger flower follows, almost resembling a rose but stuffed with larger petals, wider petals that are tinged coral at the end and fade white towards the pollen grains. 

“Peony.” Makoto murmurs, blinking slowly as Laurent smiles a bit too forcefully, “shame.”

“You’re quite good at this, we should make you a botanist next time we try to con someone, hm?”

Laurent’s hands are caked with soil, fingernails dirty. 

Clenched tightly.

“Give me your hands.”

Makoto looks up, unwavering gaze staring right into Laurent’s sharp cerulean eyes that cloud over for a moment, hesitant, questioning and _ashamed._

It doesn’t take him long to figure it out. 

The way Laurent’s hands had smelt like antiseptic earlier when he had wrapped the towel around Makoto should have been a straight forward hint.

The person they had conned this time round was smart, cautious and Laurent had volunteered himself. 

He stretched his own hands out, opening his palms and smiling encouragingly, “It’s just a bruise right?”

“It’s fine, I wrapped it up myself hours ago.”

“And you’re here sulking-”

“No, I’m thinking.”

“You didn’t eat dinner.”

Larger hands landed on his own, looking down, “I wasn’t hungry.”

“Yeah, so? I thought you had left or something. Or that something went wrong and you weren’t telling us. We’re a team, we’re supposed to stick together and rely on each other no matter what you think.” Makoto huffed, eyes trailing down to land on still clenched hands.

“Seriously?”

“What?” the man’s smirk only lengthened.

“Unclench them.” he sighed, apologizing softly as Laurent winced, the sides of his wrist bruised purple and evidently swelling because the man favoured and loved control much more than anything. 

One of his hands leaves the warmth of Makoto’s palms, trailing up to his face, cold fingers brushing an unruly strand of hair back and against the ridge of his ear as his other hand, still in Makoto’s smaller palm unclenched. 

And on it, sat a little wrinkled flower, rose pink heart-shaped petals staring up at him, so small yet holding so much meaning.

Laurent’s eyes sparkled for a moment, mischievous as always yet so sure of his plan, “Do you know what this one means?”

He wants to say no, unsure if the man’s just playing around; quizzing him on dumb flower language or is actually trying to tell him something but still, all of the breath in Makoto’s lungs disappears for a moment before flooding him once again as he nodded slowly, mouth pursed as he replied, “Will you dance with me?”

“Will you?”

The flower in Laurent’s larger palm seemed to glow, but not as bright as Laurent’s own smile when Makoto leaned into the bony, cold hand cupping his cheek. 

**Author's Note:**

> I have a heck load of drafts planned, but I have my exams coming up so I don't want to rush them! But there's definitely more in store for these two from me.  
> Flowers:
> 
> [ Viscaria](https://www.swallowtailgardenseeds.com/flowers/viscarias/viscaria-oculata-mix.jpeg) \- Will you dance with me?
> 
> [ Magnolia](https://imagesvc.meredithcorp.io/v3/mm/image?q=85&c=sc&poi=%5B1000%2C688%5D&w=2000&h=1333&url=https%3A%2F%2Fstatic.onecms.io%2Fwp-content%2Fuploads%2Fsites%2F24%2F2010%2F03%2Fgettyimages-91779779-2000.jpg) \- Nobility
> 
> [ Narcissus](https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/1308/3047/products/narcissus-orangery-4_grande.jpg?v=1563532071) \- Egotism/Formality
> 
> [ Peony](https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn%3AANd9GcS1UQkrzJlp9i-114CnBwcAr5a9nGwtF9TB1Q&usqp=CAU) \- Shame
> 
> [More flower language can be found [here](https://aggie-horticulture.tamu.edu/archives/parsons/publications/flowers/flowers.html)
> 
> I feel like Makoto's mom would have been a florist for some reason, just a personal hc of mine. I also wanted to change Laurent's outfit a bit and put him something that's not fashionable but can still make it look fashionable.
> 
> I tried fluff, it didn't work XD. So this turned into a comfort + romangsty fic! Exploring weak moments and vulnerabilities is fun...  
> Laurent definitely special ordered the flowers, grown enough so he can plant them and they can bloom at the same time, what else is he gonna spend the money on? Lmfao.
> 
> :3 Anyway, have a good day/eve/night.  
> Thank you for reading! Feedback is appreciated \0\\!


End file.
